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Only one difference.

Interpersonal Bonding Among Millennials in the Age of the Internet couldn’t kill you. A Harley Whatever-It-Was could.

Bianca folded her arms. “Forget it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am not riding that—that thing.”

“Technically,” he said, as he unhooked a pair of helmets from a bar and offered one to her, “you won’t be riding it. You’ll be a passenger.”

Just what she needed. Advice on vocabulary from a man who owned a not-very-subtle stand-in for male genitalia.

Although why a guy who looked like he did would need any kind of stand-in…

A series of hard-hitting guitar chords rose into the night.

Chay dug in the pocket of his jeans and took out an iPhone. “Yeah?” He listened, nodded, said, “See you in ten,” and tucked the phone away. “That was Tanner. The Thai place is jammed. We’re meeting them at a little Italian place farther up the highway.”

“Not on that thing.”

“That thing,” he said tightly, “is one of the finest bikes ever made.”

“How nice for you.”

Chay folded his arms. “What’s the problem?”

She had never been on a motorcycle. That was the problem. Especially one that looked like a beast from hell. More to the point, she’d never understood why anyone would want to ride one. Motorcycles looked as if they took charge of their riders. With cars, even trucks, it was the other way around.

“There’s no problem,” she said, hoping she sounded nonchalant. “I just prefer a car. Or a truck.”

“Because?”

Dio. The man was persistent.

“Because they’re more comfortable.”

He raised one dark eyebrow. “So you’ve been on a bike before?”

Hell. Say “yes” and he’d only ask more questions. Say “no” and he’d get that smug, superior look on his face and tell her she’d missed the opportunity of a lifetime.

“That isn’t the issue,” she said. “I simply prefer a car.”

He made a show of looking around.

“Well, that’s going to difficult, seeing as the bike is what we’ve got.”

“What you’ve got.” Bianca opened the small black bag that hung from her shoulder and plucked a smartphone from its depths. “I’ve got a phone, meaning that in no time whatsoever I’ll also have a taxi.”

He nodded. “Who’s your carrier?”

“What?”

“I said, who’s your carrier? Your cellphone provider.”

“I don’t see where that’s any of…”

She frowned. Jiggled the phone.